


The Liveliness of Your Mind

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, prompts, silly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jack wanted was a cup of tea. </p><p>(From the prompt: Jane asks Jack how/when he knew he was in love with Phryne. Phryne overhears, or asks Jack about it later. Established Phrack.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack and Jane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarahtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/gifts).



> Sarah gave me this prompt. I think there might EVENTUALLY be a third chapter, but it's a two-parter for now. Rating for chapter 2. Which I'll post soon. 
> 
> The title (and Jack's quote) are from this exchange in Pride and Prejudice, POINTED OUT BY THE AMAZING JASBO who roused from her sickbed in my hour of need:
>
>> Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"
>> 
>> "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."
>> 
>> "My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"
>> 
>> "For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
>> 
>> "You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love." 

Jack was reading his newspaper, enjoying his morning cuppa and not thinking of much of anything when Jane bounced into the kitchen, snagging a piece of toast from the plate and dropping into the chair beside him. Her school bag clattered to the floor between them.

“When did you know you were in love with Miss Phryne?” she asked.

To Jack’s credit, he managed to not choke on his drink.

“Um--”

“No hemming and hawing, just answer the question,” scolded Jane good-naturedly.

“...Why?”

“You’re not coming off terribly well so far,” she replied, managing a stunningly accurate impersonation of the woman in question. “Come on, do try to keep up.”

He had not had enough sleep the night before, and--taking a sip of his tea to cover his contemplation--cast his mind for some suitably… suitable answer that would appease a sixteen-year-old.

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

"Jack!” Jane said in exasperation. “I love Austen as much as the next girl, but answer the question."

He took another slice of toast, spreading jam to all corners carefully. If someone had told him a few years ago that this would be his life--a woman who challenged him to be better, a house in St. Kilda that was as good as his, an unofficial foster daughter who enjoyed teasing him mercilessly--Jack would not have believed them.

“I’m not entirely sure--”

“That it’s appropriate for my sweet, innocent ears to hear?” Jane asked with false demureness.

“I was going to say ‘possible to answer’ actually.”

Jane scrunched her nose.

“Try. For me,” she requested, eyes wide.

It was a cheap trick, which made its effectiveness that much more galling. Jack sighed.

“Do you mean when I realised I loved her, or was in love with her, or… it’s not one moment, Jane.”

“Hold on,” she said, topping up his tea and pouring her own. Then she leaned back in her chair and stared expectantly. “Go on, then.”

“Murdoch Foyle, to start,” Jack said.

“Being the dashing hero coming to her rescue?” asked Jane, tucking her knee beneath her to lean forward eagerly.

“Something like that,” Jack said.

It hadn’t been; Jack had no patience for heroics. It had been later, when she had allowed him to see her pain and grief and vulnerability. She had donned her usual vivacity soon enough, but the privilege of seeing _her_ was not easily forgotten; he suspected that she would have laughed it off as a weakness, but it had been her strength that shone through. Being beside her when she needed it was no longer a conscious decision.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jane said, “but I’ll let it lie for now. When did you realise you were in love with her?”

Jack raised his teacup to his lips, taking a sip.

“Later.”

Jane gave him a look of contempt that only a teenaged girl could muster.

“Honestly, I don’t know, Jane. A few months later? I was waiting for my divorce to be finalised and I believe that it was enough of a shield against any… burgeoning feelings.  And then one night she looked at me over her whiskey and I realised that I was, and that I knew her too well to ever do a thing about it.”

There’s been a softness in Phryne’s eyes that night, warmth and affection that had stirred a longing Jack had thought long gone.

Jane sighed, rolling her eyes and slumping back into her chair.

“That’s it?” she asked in disbelief. “The great romantic revelation was a drink at the right time?”

“We can’t all have declarations over sick beds and sweeping letters,” Jack said dryly.

They had, of course, in their own way. A silent parlour, a burnt stocking, the knowledge that his love--sincere, but easily dismissed as an occupational hazard of a life with Phryne Fisher in it and ultimately incidental to their friendship--was not returned, could not be returned in a manner that was acceptable to them both. He’d withdrawn, unwilling to alter what alteration had found. He was thankful Jane had been out of the country at the time and therefore knew nothing of it.

“I must admit, with Miss Phryne I rather expected it to be while dangling out a window or being held hostage or… _something_.”

“I did shoot a man for her,” Jack said; it was meant to be a tongue-in-cheek comment to appease Jane’s desire of dramatics, but it came out too heavy.

“Really?” she asked.

Jack nodded, and Jane looked contemplative. She took another slice of toast, chewing on it absently.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

“You don’t even know the context,” Jack protested.

“Incidental,” Jane replied with a small, secretive smile. “It’s you, which means that Miss Phryne couldn’t save herself--probably because she was doing something ill-advised--and whoever it was deserved it.”

The implicit faith in that statement took him by surprise, and he smiled broadly.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jane scolded. “You still haven’t answered my question. What made you finally do something?”

“That wasn’t the original question.”

“Indulge me.”

Jack considered it for several minutes, ignoring Jane’s impatient huffs as she ate her toast. Finally he ruffled a hand through his hair.

“I… I eventually realised that loving her made my life better, and if there was a chance we could make something of it, it was worth the attempt,” he said finally, then smiled. “Well, that and Miss Fisher invited me.”

Jane sighed and stood.

“I just sat through all your prevaricating non-answers to find out that ‘Actually, it was Phryne’ was the solution?”

“Were you expecting something different, knowing her?”

“It would have been more helpful.”

Oh. Boy-related troubles. He should have guessed.

“I’m sorry, but it’s something you’ll have to ask her.”

Jane huffed again, then smiled.

“I will. But I have a suspicion you’ll find her answers mortifying.”

“I’ve known her long enough that it takes more than that to embarrass me.”

Jane drank the last of her tea, taking a third slice of toast.

“Maybe I’ll ask her about the first time you kissed…” she teased, grabbing her bag and heading out the kitchen door for school.

Jack groaned and turned back to his tea.


	2. Phryne and Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a small chancce there's a third chapter, between Phryne and Jane, but it's currentlly refusing to be written. This fulfills the prompt, at least.

”Your daughter is a nightmare.”

Phryne groaned and buried deeper under her duvet, smiling slightly at the shifting mattress as Jack climbed back into bed. He so rarely did, claiming that once he was up he was up for the day, so she took the opportunity to cuddle against his shoulder as he half-sat, probably intending to read a book.

“Hmm?” she asked sleepily, fingers slowly fumbling open the buttons on his pyjamas.

“A nightmare,” Jack repeated, running one hand along her spine, stopping at the small of her back; she used it as an excuse to move closer, throwing a leg over his and pressing against him gently.

She moaned agreeably as his hold tightened. “And why’s that?”

“She was asking when I fell in love with you.”

The ease with which he admitted it never failed to surprise Phryne, nor did it fail to please her. She opened one eye to look at him--reclining against the pillows, hair loose, utterly at ease--and admired his profile in the early morning light.

“What did you tell her?” she asked, curious.

“I quoted Jane Austen and prayed the ground would swallow me whole,” he replied, and she laughed.

“You didn’t!”

“True,” he admitted with a grin. “No prayers involved.”

Phryne shifted up as best she could, kissing the corners of his lips that naturally rested downward; as always, they lifted at her touch. She was still pressed against his body, a languid sort of awareness filling her. She rolled her hips with deliberation, laughed at his stifled groan, rolled on top of him, pressing her naked body against his half-clothed one. Her lips were a hair’s breadth away from his, and he moved to catch them--she pulled away.

“What did you tell her?” she repeated playfully.

He muttered a protest, and Phryne kissed him softly.

“Answers, inspector.”

“I told her your stint as an undercover flamingo made quite the impression.”

She bit his lip in reprimand and he chuckled.

“Or maybe it was the time I braved icy waters for your hunch--”

“That was the height of summer, Jack!”

“The time you admitted me into your boudoir solely so I could rescue you from a creeping, crawling arachnid?” he suggested, smirking.

“Ah, yes, and made Collins actually do the deed. My hero,” she said dryly, shifting enough to remove his trousers, then restraddled him and stroked his cock to hardness. 

His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, losing his line of thought. Phryne gave a small crow of victory, and his eyes opened.  

“Poisoning myself with your father's nerve tonic and not dying from sheer horror when you gave me that  _ look _ the following morning. I was never quite certain whether you really did undress me..."

She moved again, to get a better angle, then grinned wickedly. 

“I really, really did.”

“Oh god,” he groaned, and she wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment or pleasure as she sunk onto him. Both, probably.

 “So, Jack,” she purred, moving her hips in a way that drove him particularly wild, “what did you really tell her?”

“I’m not sure I want to confess, if this is the interrogation,” he replied, slipping one hand between them to stroke her clit. 

“Mm, but darling  _ I  _ want you to confess.”

She arched backwards as she said it, offering herself up; he took the hint, one hand coming to nestle between her shoulder blades as he pulled her close, lips exploring the exposed skin. His other hand continued to stroke against her, slightly firmer; she mewled in pleasure and he groaned again.

“The first time I heard that noise,” he said.

“Liar,” she replied, tilting her head to look at him. She leant forward to whisper into his ear. “I can wait all day, Jack. Can you?”

He circled her clit once more, then pulled away; with a whine of protest Phryne thrust forward, trying to follow the path of his hand.

“Now who’s the liar?” he chuckled.

She pouted playfully. 

“I’m beginning to doubt you  _ had  _ an answer,” she teased. “Perhaps I’m nothing more than a diversion to entertain yourse--” 

Jack growled, kissing her silent.

“Doubt anything you like, Miss Fisher,” he said as he pulled away, “but never doubt that I love you.”

“Never,” Phryne smiled softly. “But I do want to know.”

Jack capitulated with a tiny shake of his head. 

“I told her the truth; there  _ was  _ no one moment.” 

“Good answer,” Phryne laughed. “How did you even get on that topic?”

“Not a clue. Romantic trouble, I suspect, but it’s really not high on my current list of curiosities to appease.”

“No?” Phryne asked, leaning in to kiss him and beginning to undulate again. “What  _ is  _ at the top of your list?”

His eyes flashed with mischief, and he moved to capture her breast with his mouth.

“Well,” he murmured, “when did you know that you were in love with me?”

“You’ll never make me talk,” Phryne laughed.

The knowing, tender smile and sly look in his eyes filled her with happiness.

“We’ll see about that, Miss Fisher.”


End file.
